Saving Savannah

“Do it,” I called back, flipping my hair over one shoulder. “Come for me, b

aby. Don’t stop.”

My eyes met his, but he wasn’t seeing me. He was somewhere else. Someplace else entirely…

“Dump it in me,” I smirked back at him. “Don’t hold ba—”

Zane didn’t cry out, he actually roared. It was incredibly hot, watching him go from screwing me a million miles a minute to a dead, shuddering stop. He rammed himself against my body one last time, his hands going so tight they felt like they fused into my hips. Then he was coming. Roaring loudly and pumping his seed inside me, as I admired every cut and curve of his young, well-muscled physique.

Holy. Fucking. Shit…

I collapsed, somehow into Erik’s arms. He held me protectively, my quivering body melding perfectly against his hard, strapping chest. I could feel his heart, thundering away beneath my cheek. I sighed happily, as a random hand smoothed itself over my naked ass.

Then he let out a deep laugh; one that reverberated through me.

“What’s so funny?” I managed to gasp.

“And you thought we were all done screwing and hammering things for the night,” he chuckled.

Eight

SAVANNAH

I woke to a blaring phone alarm that was distant and far away. I was warm. Sleepy. Sore.

Sore?

My eyes blinked open. I bolted upright, squinting against the light streaming in through my untreated window. I was in a new place, a new apartment. And I was alone.

But… I hadn’t always been.

What the—

The haze of sleep dropped away, and memories flooded in to take its place. Good memories. Fantastic memories.

OH MY GOD!

I reached left and right, spreading my arms across the giant bed. I found nothing but my brand new sheets, which still had that silky, unwashed feel to them.

So the guys were gone, then. All the better. No awkward goodbyes. No morning after remorse.

Remorse?

I did a cursory search of my feelings. Nope, no remorse. Only butterfly-inducing memories of a hot, crazy evening. That, and the flat taste of last night’s wine in the back of my throat.

I stretched, got up, and grabbed my robe. Then I hit the head first. After brushing my teeth and taking care of business, I crept out into the empty living room to locate the source of the offending alarm.

After only two steps I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Whoa…”

I expected a giant mess. Beer bottles, boxes, packing material… all the hallmarks of last night’s little get-together. Instead, my studio apartment was pristine. The mounds of cardboard were gone, carried off with the piles of Styrofoam and pieces of shrink-wrap that had been littered around the room as we assembled my furniture.

Even the pizza boxes were gone. The table had been cleaned, the wine glasses washed and put away. I located the remaining cheese pie tucked away in my fridge on paper plates, presumably for later.

“Damn.”

I finally reached my phone and killed the alarm. It was right where I’d left it on the kitchen counter, only now it rested atop a hand-written note: